I remember the first breath I took stepping out of the station —
it felt like the city exhaled first.

London greeted me the way an old soul does:
not with fanfare, but with quiet recognition.

The air was thick with rain and possibility,
and everything — the lights, the movement,
the scent of roasted coffee mingling with the damp air —
felt strangely familiar.

I didn’t know then that cities could feel alive in such a gentle way.
Not loud, not overwhelming — just endlessly layered.
Every street hummed with history, every face carried its own novel,
and yet somehow there was room for me between them.

I wasn’t a tourist. I wasn’t an observer.
I was simply there, part of the breath that kept the whole thing moving.

I fell in love with London the way one falls in love
with someone who doesn’t need to speak to be understood.

The fog wrapped around me like an old friend,
softening everything I thought I knew about silence.
It wasn’t empty — it was kind.

And in that quiet kindness, I heard something shift within me —
that gentle click when a piece of your heart finds its place somewhere new.

I’ve carried that sound ever since.

— Calina
Books by Armony • Reflections Abroad